Home
by haleycl
Summary: Mine is a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. His is Monty's dog bed. Her's is his t-shirt. We all need a little home. A series of separate episode tags based on the t-shirt dialogue in 3x21, and will continue throughout the rest of seasons three, four and five. Chapter four is a tag to 4x02, Recruit. Enjoy!
1. Home

**This is set after the t-shirt dialogue in 3x21, and will continue throughout the rest of season 3 and 4, and possibly continuing into season 5, depending on where the writers take it this season. The chapters will all be their own stories, some light and humorous, some angsty, others a mix between hurt and comfort. I WILL BE INCLUDING THE SPECULATIVE SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE, SO ONCE WE REACH THAT POINT, THOSE WHO DON'T WANT TO KNOW WILL BE WARNED. **

**Disclaimer: I would buy myself a new immune system, but alas, I do not own them.**

**First one is in response to 3x22, Neighborhood Watch. Enjoy!**

Marty Deeks stood outside the suspect's house looking rather gob smacked. His fiery and bold partner had just pressed her body up against his in ways that should be all kinds of illegal. Granted, it was to draw attention away from the fact that he had finally said aloud that he knew where his missing t-shirt had gone, but still, it counts. He could recall exactly when she must have taken it, too.

_They had been watching the game and making pizza when he, in his child like haste, had turned right into her, dropping the pan right onto the front of her shirt. The pizza was salvageable; her shirt was another story. He had merely pointed in the direction of his bedroom and told her to take her pick. He made a quip about what it took now a day to get women out of their own clothes and into his. She laughed and went on looking for something to wear. She came out wearing his Oakland Raiders t-shirt. _

_ "Ha. You might not want to wear that one. I'm pretty sure it was on its way to the laundry pile." He turned his smile into a smirk, knowing that her adorableness, and his willingness to tell her he thought as much, would not help his current standings. _

_ She shrugged and just said, "Smells fine to me. Smells just like you, and I put up with that stench every day." And they were back, he thought with a minor dose of relief. He wasn't ready for any type of change when it came to her. Best to keep it status quo. _

_ He probably wouldn't have even noticed, except that he did, many weeks later when he was doing her laundry, to be precise. His t-shirt had been bundled up with a pair of her gray sweats, near the top of the laundry bag. And he found the thought that she was wearing his shirt, smelling his scent while she sat curled up on her sofa, strangely comforting and oddly erotic. So he did what any man would do. He washed the shirt in his own detergent and softener, and then slept in it for a night, spritzing some cologne on it before he gave it back to her, clean and folded along with the rest of her clothes. She didn't say anything about it, so he figured they were in the clear. _

She knew that he knew that she had the shirt. And she was completely trying to be ok with that. When she was a murder suspect, that t-shirt was what she wore to bed for those two long nights. And then when she got back, she found that Deeks was more than willing to be her personal pillow for a night, something they've done on occasion, when falling asleep on the couch is just more preferable. She didn't need his shirt that night, because she had the real thing. It's not like she wore it all the time, just when she was away from home and missing him.

Now here he was saying the words out loud, verbally confirming that he knew that she knew that he knew. So she reverted, flirting her way out of the situation long enough to confuse the poor man, while also trying to reassure him that there was nothing between her and the five-0 boys, or at least, nothing tangible.

"Well THAT was uncalled for." Then they're back and they're off, into the house, the conversation stowed away for another time, one that seems to get further and further each day.

That night he comes over and they watch a cooking show while talking quietly about random nothings. When he slowly got up, announcing that he was going to wake up early to try a new surfing spot, she pouted slightly, and then bid him goodnight. When she was sure he was gone, she donned his shirt, wistfully wishing she were brave enough to do so in front of the man himself, that she were brave enough to speak about this thing they are forever tiptoeing around.

A week later, in a whirlwind affair, they are whisked off to a cover house in the suburbs. She's not as used to undercover work as he is, especially not long operations. Clearly she isn't thinking when the agent is given thirty minutes to go home and pack and the first thing she throws into her duffle is his damn t-shirt. For the first week, it doesn't matter since she wakes up nearly every morning sprawled across his chest. It's enough to know that he's not the one moving through out the night, that's all her. But once week two rolls around, she finds that she misses her couch, and the comfort of her little apartment, where every room can be seen from that one spot in her kitchen. She misses the messes and the warmth that they bring, the safety in the permanence.

So the eighth night that they are there, she walks downstairs to the living room in his t-shirt and her grey sweats and curls up next to him. Legs folded underneath her, she leans her body onto his own, both of her arms wrapping around his one. A shocked Deeks throws up his arms and uses humor to diffuse.

"Permission to touch, ma'am?" Only it's not funny, because she's homesick. She misses being normal with him, they own version of normal, not the white picket fence brand of American dream that frankly makes her think too much of the way her childhood was before her mother took off.

Instead of answering him, she burrows her head into the space between his shoulder and neck and doesn't say anything.

"Kens, you ok?" His question is soft and brings tears to her eyes because she doesn't want to have to be ok. For once she just wants to be able to be NOT ok and have everything be fine the next morning.

That's when he notices his t-shirt and suddenly he gets it. He himself brings Monty's dog bed when he goes under. It's something small that keeps him tethered to his life. But she hasn't ever been under for longer than a week, and she's obviously feeling it. His hand, connected to the arm she's holding hostage, comes to rest on her bended knee, kneading and rubbing through the fabric found there.

"If it makes you feel better, I can start making inappropriate comments, or we can throw clothes around, make it look more like home for you?"

She sniffs, and then laughs. Her body rises with a sigh, and she settles further into him. A thought comes to her, and she tilts her face up to look at his eyes. It takes him a few minutes to notice that he's being looked at before he meets her shining orbs.

"Say anything about this ever, and I will beat you unconscious only to drag your body to Hetty and tell her that you did something stupid." Even her threats were cute and affectionate, when he read between the lines, of course.

So they didn't talk. Instead they watched a scary movie where the rarely seen jumpy Kensi Blye made an appearance. She let her guard down, seeking comfort from someone who knew exactly how she was feeling. After the movie, they went through the house hand in hand to turn off all the lights and lock all the doors. Entering the bedroom, she didn't even pretend that they wouldn't end up tangled together anyways. He stripped off his pants and his shirt, lay down next to her, just holding her. He knew he couldn't say anything to help, so he just held her. The next morning she was awake before he was, making a mess out of "their" closet, and calling him sleeping beauty. Nothing had changed and for that, she was grateful.

**A/N: I'm not going to make any promises or guarantees about when I'll be able to get new chapters out, but I can tell you that I tend to have a lot of free time through out the week, so it should be up fairly soon. Love you guys, and thanks so much for reading! Have a fantastic rest of your week.**


	2. Grieving

Looking at the readout on her cell phone, a small smile graced Kensi Blye's face, all angles and beautifully sharp lines.

"Hey Deeks. What's up?" Her voice came over the line, softer than usual, sounding hoarse. It was all the evidence one Marty Deeks needed to know that she had been crying, and probably not talking much throughout the day.

"How was the service?" He made sure to keep his voice light, as to not scare her away, back into that tough shell of hers.

"It was fine. She was my great grandmother, so I didn't know her much, but my mom was here. It's still strange around her. She has a stepdaughter. She's twelve. How was the rest of the case?" Changing the topic was enough to stop the tears from audibly falling, but a few slipped unbidden from beneath her lashes.

"It was ok. Kind of miss you, you know, because I can't pick on the big boys."

"Hm, you can't really pick on me, either, sweetheart, unless you're expecting a kick to the, um, little boys." The affection in the jibe didn't go unnoticed by Kensi, but she figured it would do more damage to go back and correct herself.

"So Kensalina, are you wearing my shirt?" The silence on the other end of the line was met with his exclaimed "You are, aren't you! Does it even still smell like me? You've probably had it stuffed under your pillow most nights, sucking the gorgeous rugged Odour of Deeks right out of the thing."

"Deeks you're rambling, and no, I'm not wearing your shirt. It's sitting on top of my counter because I'm going to give it back to you once I get back from Oregon."

"Liar. I can see you, there's no use denying it." He watched in silent amusement as her head whipped around, trying to spot him. He was confident that she wouldn't, considering he was in the hall, looking through the window beside the hotel room door.

"Deeks, where are you?" Her voice had a lilt of panic to it, but also one of impending relief.

He opened the door with the room key he coerced out of the front desk receptionist. "Right here, Kens, right here."

Dropping the phone, she took three long strides to let him pull her into his chest. His sinewy arms wrapped around her securely as her hands and forearms became comfortably trapped between the two bodies.

As the moment dragged on, Kensi took a ragged breath and then stepped back. And hit him. Hard.

"You jackass. You could have called first, instead of dragging me along."

"You're just mad because you got caught in my shirt, miss Bad Ass Blye doesn't need anyone ever."

The answering glare left him chuckling instead of decapitated, and she frowned, mentally reminder herself to throw more spice into it next time.

"Come on, change and we'll go to a club around the corner. You need to get drunk."

Kensi looked down at herself. She was wearing Deeks' t-shirt, two sizes too big, and a pair of simple black panties.

Instead of sending him out of the room the way he expected her to, she turned around and pulled on a pair of jeans that did wonders for her… assets, and then pulled a cardigan over the grey t-shirt, tucking the excess fabric at the front into the front of her waistband. All of the sudden she looked put together and ready to go, in a matter of minutes. Fascinating.

"Can we go to a bar instead? I didn't bring any clubbing clothes to my great grandmother's funeral."

"Sarcasm dually noted, and sure, grievers' choice." He turned and grinned at her, and silent plea for her not to take his words the wrong way. She didn't, and she answered with a grin of her own.

They ended up at the hotel bar where a big man there for a hunting trip challenged Kensi to a drinking contest. Four shots of patrone later, and his friends were carrying the man upstairs to his room. Kensi was no better off, swaying in a way that brought her precariously close to other customers.

Deeks brought his lips close to her ear, and she leaned all her weight against him, seemingly thankful for the support.

"Come on babe, let's get you upstairs and into bed."

"Hmm, alright, let's do that." The look on her face betrayed her intentions, and though he himself had no willingness to take advantage of her drunken state, he didn't bother correcting her. Rather, he grinned at her, and threw some folded bills on to the wooden bar top.

Up in her room, Kensi didn't wait for the door to close behind them before she was stumbling around taking off clothes. First her jeans, and then the cardigan, and the hairbands holding her soft hair in a sleek ponytail. She was left in his t-shirt and her panties and socks. He swallowed hard. What a sight she made, standing there, well more like swaying at this point, in his shirt, cheeks flushed and looking at him with all the trust in the world.

He did what she trusted him to do. He went over to her side and picked her up, slowly as to not upset her stomach. He brought her over to the bed and gently set her on the edge of it. He brought her a water bottle, instructing her to drink the whole thing. She did as he told her and then laid back, looking completely exhausted, and ready to let down those steel walls of hers.

As soon as he saw the look on her face, a look of utter despair and confusion, and just plain sadness, he came and sat next to her the bed, drawing her near to him once more.

"My dad **Hiccup** he was **hiccup** buried **hiccup** here."

"Shhh. It's ok Kens, I got you. You're ok. It's all going to be fine."

They didn't talk. She cried, he held her, but they didn't talk.

Her eyelids had nearly completely slid shut when he heard her mumbling something. He leaned his head down close to her lips and told her to say it again.

"I like your scruff. It looks like my daddy's did."


	3. Honey, I'm Home

Marty Deeks walked up the stairs to apartment number 43, and knocked on the door. When there wasn't a response from inside the glass French doors, a frown appeared on the handsome detectives face. He had just talked to Special Agent Kensi Blye and told her that he would be there in five minutes to pick her up for work. Granted he had texted her, and he hadn't gotten a response, but he figured she was just ignoring him.

He heard something get knocked down from inside and was instantly on alert. Drawing his sidearm, he turned the knob, surprised and concerned when he met no resistance and the door swung open.

His jaw dropped at the scene. Kensi Marie Blye, Bad Ass Blye, the tough one in a team of all men, was dancing around her apartment, ear buds in place and long legs on full display.

That alone would have warranted a chuckle and a few fantasies for the scruffy blonde detective. No, what brought him to a full stop was the fact that she was wearing the dark blue t-shirt that he had been missing for weeks now.

She turned further so that her back was to him and began working on the week's worth of dishes stacked in her sink.

A smirk formed on Deeks' face and he quietly crept towards her. Placing his hands on her hips, he realized his fatal mistake two seconds too late.

"Oof." The air left his lungs. Her elbow was a lot sharper than it looked!

"Deeks, what the hell are you doing here?" Ear buds still pumping out music, she didn't realize she was screaming.

He reached for her, noticing first the way that her breath hitched, and then the way that her lips parted slightly, as if in anticipation. He plucked the ear buds out of her ears.

"I came to pick you up for work. What are you doing? Not that I didn't enjoy the show, but seriously, we're going to be so late, and Hetty's going to kill us."

"I called in sick. I was going to spend the day cleaning, and then catch up on sleep. So no, Hetty's going to kill _you_. Finally. I can't believe she hasn't already." He didn't miss her growing sneer as his own face morphed into what he was sure was a look of sheer terror.

"Ok, ok, no need to panic. I'll just tell her there was a wreck on the frontage road. There's always wrecks down there anyways." He was talking and moving frantically at the same time. Seeming to forget himself, he leaned towards her and hurriedly kissed her, just a little peck, while also grabbing the backpack he had set down upon entering her home.

"Bye, I'll see you later. Nice shirt by the way. Ok, wish me luck. Oh, I'm so dead." And with that the door closed. Kensi sat staring at the glass panes, warmed by the sun coming in through the windows on the other side of her small but cozy living space.

Her phone pinged and she numbly looked at the screen.

_Deeks_

_Did I just kiss you? _

Oh, she was going to have some fun with this one. And with that thought she put the headphones back in her ears and continued on her quest to see what color her floor actually was.


	4. Returning

A tag to 4x02, Recruit. Really, it would be set in between 4x01 and 4x02. Deeks' vacation.

Disclaimer: I work at a no name bar where every customer is a regular. Does anyone really think I own anything of significance?

When Marty Deeks tells her that he is going to Jordan, he does so with an invitation for her to join him. But this time it isn't fear of personal feelings that is stopping her. No, this time it's the few thousand meetings and reports Special Agent Kensi Blye has to do in the coming week. So, she declines, and drives him to the airport like a good little partner, all the while pouting because she didn't get any vacation days. They're bantering about something when she pulls the car up to the curb in front of the airport, so it's not even a conscious decision for her to follow him into the building, walking with him as far as the security checkpoints allow her to. They shuffle feet back and forth until Deeks flashes a brilliant, disarming smile and tells her not to miss him too much, to be safe while he's gone. She nods and rolls her eyes in the appropriate places. He grabs her in a hug where it takes her a few seconds to hug him back. And then he's letting go, walking through the metal detector, off on his new adventure. She sighs involuntarily and fights a glare at the older woman who glances at her with a smile. She wraps her arms around herself, walking back through the crowd to the parked car. Once she gets in her car, she realizes there is a ball of bunched up dark blue fabric sitting in her passenger seat. His LAPD t-shirt.

The first email comes not even 24 hours after she dropped him off. Considering the flight alone is 18 hours long, she's impressed by his promptness. His message is short, just letting her know he got there safely. His includes three pictures, one of him standing outside the airport in Amman, and the other two of him in the hotel room, admiring the view. She smiles, trying to come up with something she can say back, something other than "I miss you, please never leave without me again." She contemplates just telling him that he forgot his t-shirt in her car, but what if he meant to do that? Kensi gives up after eight minutes of staring at her computer screen. Instead she turns on her Pandora station and opens up Pinterest. There is where she gets a stupendous idea. The post shows that she can match his emails and pictures with emails and pictures of her in his shirt, showing all the adventures he's missing from home. Sure, the post is for couples, but she ignores that part, justifying it with the whole "partners are closer than couples, anyways" logic, and sets about creating her first response.

The photos are nothing spectacular, nothing frisky to them, hell, she's not even wearing the shirt in any of them. Rather they are exactly _them. _She mocks how badly his shirt smells, teasing him with threats of finally throwing it, putting it out of its misery. She sends him pictures of his t-shirt resting on the beach where her yoga retreat was held.

The week is over much quicker than she thought, and then she's driving to the airport at the butt-crack-of-dawn to pick him up. She forgets that she's wearing his shirt, and despite the chilly morning air, very short shorts in the warmth of her car. Deeks is waiting at the curb this time, and as he gets in the car, he grunts once, before turning towards the window and falling asleep. She pulls into his driveway, turns off the car, slamming her door shut. It wakes him up, and he jogs to catch up to her as she slips into his front door. He expects her to crash on his couch, complain about how he doesn't have a blanket anywhere in site, but otherwise slip into oblivion. What he does _not _expect is for her to disappear down his hallway and into his bedroom. Jetlag won't allow him to think any further than that, though. He takes his bag, drops it into the laundry room, and joins her in the quiet dark of his bedroom. Shoes are slipped off, sweatpants donned, white t-shirt acquired. He joins her in his bed, on the left side, as she had already taken the favored right side. He hisses and groans, making all kinds of disgruntled noises as the bones in his back slide into realignment. A week sleeping on an old pull out couch, the cheapest option the hotel had to offer, did a number on his back.

Kensi rolled over, her face settling on the right side of his chest.

"Shhh. You're waking me up." Her lazy mumbles make him smile through the discomfort. Soon enough, he's nearly asleep.

"So your trip was good?" Her question breaks through the haze and he fights the urge to roll over, pulling a pillow over his head in the process.

Instead he groans and then answers her with a "Mhmm. Real good. Nice place. Talk tomorrow." His left arm drapes over her midsection and they're both asleep in seconds.

The next morning she is gone before he stirs. He smiles, knowing how exhausted she must have been to let her walls crumble like they did. He practically skips into work, ready to share every moment of the trip with his partner, and anyone else who'll listen. The stories and pictures never stop, driving her insane all day. There's some truth in his statement when he tells her that she missed him. She doesn't tell him that she spent everyday wondering what he was doing, and each night building pillows up around her in a vain attempt to block out her thoughts. She figures he knows all this, seeing as she practically snuck her way into his bed last night.

What started as their usual banter on the way to interview a witness becomes more. She knocks on the door only to have the woman tell her to wait a second. When she turns around she sees Deeks leaning against the staircase, resting his back on the rail. He looks cool, calm and collected. And hot. She wants a reaction out of him, and she knows just how to get it.

"Touché, touché, you cannot touch my touché." He makes a quip back about human resources, knowing that he'll get her back, both for this and the comment about his sword she had made before.

They're one a plane home from Dubai. All Kensi wants to do is sleep, but Deeks seems to have other plans. She had even planned on curling up on his shoulder. But her need and want for sleep wins out when Sam walks by with a genuine interest in Deeks' beloved photos. So she slips away and lets the boys do their thing.

Later the next day, after they land, he heads over to her place with some beer and pizza. He opens the door on his own, and smirks when he sees her with headphones in, yoga pants and a tank top on, stretching on her small balcony. Leave it to her to go for a run two hours after getting off a sixteen-hour flight. Quietly putting down the pizza and beers, he sneaks up behind her, waiting a few minutes for her to notice his presence behind her. When he sees her back stiffen and then relax in recognition, he pulls his towards him by her hips. When her backside reaches his core, he takes her headphones out of her ears and whispers, "feel that, Zoro? That would be my sword, touching you. Give me a few minutes and it'll be poking you, too." He bites her neck, and then retreats, smacking her ass while he went, "and that would be me touching your touché. You really need to stop challenging me to these things and just admit that I am forever superior."

"I… I'm stunned. I don't even know how to respond to that childish display of false wit." While her breath was taken away with the brazen actions of her partner, it's given back with the relief that they are returning to normal. Vacations and trips are always fun, and an adventure in being away from each other, but the adjustment period when they come back together never fails to make her nervous.

"Uh huh. Just sit down and eat your pizza. I got you the stuff you like, with that Chinese beer you like, too."

"Mmm, thanks. By the way, I think your sword is a little bent." Oh yeah, all normal here.

The woman in the hallway laughs when she hears a pillow connect with the darling neighbor girl, followed by squeals of laughter.


End file.
